"Thank you for calling Paramount Pictures. How may I direct your
call?"
"This is the operator. I have a collect call for you from an Alan
Decker."
"Never heard of him. What does he want?"
"He says he wants to make sure that you know that Paramount owns
Star Trek."
"We are aware of that. Thank you."
"He also says that he owns Star Traks."
"I've never heard of that either."
"Will you accept the charges?"
"Absolutely not."
CLICK
STAR TRAKS:
WAYSTATION
"Collect Call"
By Alan Decker
Captain Lisa Beck's body slammed onto the deck, abruptly
ending her restful slumber. For a moment, she thought that the
station must be under attack again, but there were no red alert
klaxons blaring, no frantic calls for her to get to Ops.
Instead, all she could hear was a rather persistent buzzing.
She glanced over at her bed, which for all intents and
purposes seemed to be in the throws of a massive seizure.
Damn vibra-alarm.
As exhausted as she felt after dealing with the Collectors,
she couldn't bear the idea of being awakened by some noisy alarm,
so she'd set the vibra-alarm function on her bed instead. Normally,
the soft buzz at the beginning stage of the vibra-alarm was enough
to gently awaken her. If that didn't work, the vibrations grew more
and more intense. In this case, Beck had been vibrated right out of
bed by the equivalent of a severe earthquake. Evidently, she'd been
tired.
She had a rather strong urge just to lay there on the
carpeted floor and go back to sleep, but there were duties to
perform and a station to get back in order. Beck slowly got to her
feet, stretching bit by bit as she did so, then stumbled into the
bathroom for a quick sonic shower.
Twenty minutes later (it would have been ten, but she
nodded off while standing in the shower), she exited her quarters
and made her way through the debris-strewn corridor to the nearest
turbolift. Externally, Waystation appeared to have come through
the battle with the Collectors' vault-ship relatively unscathed other
than a lot of scorch marks, but inside was a different story. The
continual pounding had overloaded systems all over the station,
resulting in various small explosions. Additionally, the constant
jarring hadn't done their structural integrity any favors. As it was,
the ceiling in the Ops briefing room had collapsed completely, and
there was now a large duranium beam laying in the middle of the
room, where it had chopped the table basically in half.
Everything would be straightened out in time, though. Of
more immediate concern was the fact that several thousand people
would soon be returning to Waystation. Hopefully Yeoman Jones
would be on one of the first ships to come back. Beck needed her
Liaison Officer to get all of those thousands of people situated
smoothly while the rest of the crew dealt with repairs and seeing to
the 700 plus Collectors and former Collectors currently housed on
the station.
Rather than going straight to Ops, Beck decided to take a
walk through Starfleet Square Mall to get a look at how it had
fared. A few of the mall merchants had banded together to protect
that particular area from the Collectors, but, considering that the
merchants in question were Andorians, Nausicaans, and Breen, she
had no idea how much of the mall was still standing.
The place looked better than she expected. The Collectors
had evidently decided to deal with the resistance before moving on
to looting the shops, and, since the resistance proved to be more
than a match for them, the looting never took place. Instead, the
mall had fallen victim to the same jolts and jars that had battered the
rest of the station. Each store had been reduced to little more than
a holding pen for piles of merchandise and bits of display racks. A
little ways down the first floor of the mall concourse, the Soup on a
Stick kiosk had toppled over, and some strange thick green
substance was oozing out of it. Beck dodged the goop and made
her way around to where, hours earlier, Ih'mad and the others had
built their barricade outside of Ih'mad's restaurant.
Appropriately enough, it looked like a war zone. Scorch
marks cris-crossed the walls, and several of the mall's decorative
fake plants had been reduced to melted blobs. A few Collector
helmets and an oddly high number of spatulas littered the deck.
The barricade itself had been mostly deconstructed, though. Its
component heavy wooden tables returned to their rightful place
inside the restaurant.
Two of the Nausicaans who worked at The Abyss, the
Nausicaan goth shop a short ways down the concourse, growled
something at each other, then smacked their foreheads together in
some kind of display of toughness before hefting another table and
lugging it into Ih'mad's establishment where Ih'mad was waiting to
direct them on the table's proper position. With that finished, he
looked up and spotted Captain Beck standing out in the concourse
watching.
"Captain!" he exclaimed, running out of the restaurant.
"How does this Day of N'stssu find you?"
"Quite well," she said, suppressing a yawn. N'stssu was the
traditional Andorian name for the day after a great battle. Of
course, considering the number of battles of various sizes that
occurred on Andor, just about every day was a Day of N'stssu for
someone.
"I am sorry that I cannot offer you breakfast, but Fh'lay is
seasoning his new utensils this morning."
Beck glanced over at one of the spatulas strewing the deck.
"I shouldn't ask what happened to the old ones, should I?"
"It would perhaps be better if you didn't, but it is a
wonderful story. Fh'lay is a master. And your Yeoman Jones is
not at all weak either. I was very impressed with her during the
battle. You should see her with a flamethrower. She's a vision!"
"Jones?"
"Yes."
"She was here?"
"Yes."
"In the fighting."
"Yes yes yes."
"Uh huh. Interesting," Beck said.
"If you see her, please let her know that her next meal is on
the house. I wish to show my gratitude."
"Will do," Beck said distractedly as she started to walk off.
"Glad to see you're getting things back together."
"Oh yes. We will reopen in time for dinner. There will be
customers, won't there?"
"Probably."
"Very good. And will someone be seeing to the
concourse?" Ih'mad asked. "I don't mean to criticize, but it's rather
unsightly out here."
"A flamethrower will do that," Beck remarked. "Don't
worry. Someone will get to it...eventually."
"Thank you, Captain," Ih'mad said. "It was a pleasure
fighting beside you. Not literally beside you, of course, since you
were in your Operations center, but I felt your warrior spirit was
with mine, entwined against a common foe."
"Gotcha," Beck said. "I'll let you get back to your
clean-up, okay?"
"Of course," Ih'mad said with a slight bow. "Do come by
for dinner. I will hold a table of honor for you."
"I'll be here if I can," Beck said with a friendly smile. "I
really need to get to Ops now. I'll talk to you soon."
"Of course," Ih'mad said again with another bow. "Good
day, Captain."
"See you later, Ih'mad," she replied, giving a half-wave as
she headed to the turbolift.
She emerged in Ops a short time later and found
Commander Walter Morales checking over things at the docking
control console while various members of the Engineering crew
scurried around seeing to needed repairs.
"Captain," Morales said by way of greeting.
"Did you even go to sleep?" Beck asked.
"Couldn't," Morales replied. "I was a bit wired after the
fight. I'm sure I'm going to collapse tonight, but for now I'm really
awake. Six or seven cups of raktajino awake."
"I'm glad someone is," Beck said with a tired smile. "How
are we doing? No...don't tell me. I'll get it all at once in the
briefing...not that we have a briefing room at the moment."
"I can try to get it moved up on the repair priority list."
"No. No need. We'll find somewhere else. Anything not
related to the condition of the station that I should know about?"
"The Aerostar left about an hour ago. Captain Conway said
that Starfleet needed them somewhere else."
"And he didn't even say goodbye to me?"
"He didn't seem to think you'd mind."
"Not particularly," Beck said, heading toward her office
door. She was somewhat afraid to look at what had happened in
there. Before the battle, she'd packed away everything breakable,
but there were no guarantees that the pounding the station took
hadn't reduced her office furniture to abstract sculptures.
Before taking another step, she made a command decision.
She really didn't want to see her office right now. Besides, there
was that one tidbit of information that Ih'mad had given her that she
wanted to investigate.
"Commander," she said, turning back around. "Have you
heard from Yeoman Jones?"
"A little while ago. She wanted to know if we could spare a
couple of people to help with arriving ships. She's setting up some
kind of temporary intake center down in one of the conference
rooms near the docking rings. It sounded like a good idea to me."
"Actually, it is, but do you know when she got here?"
Morales thought for a moment. "She must have come back
on a ship, but I don't think any ships have..."
"They haven't," Beck said. "She never left. Instead, she
helped Ih'mad and the others defend the mall."
"Ohhhh."
"Yeah. I'm going down to the conference center to say hi.
Why don't you grab us a room there for the briefing and tell
everyone to meet there? It'll be more comfortable than standing
around Ops."
"I'll take care of it," Morales said as his attention was pulled
back to his console. "Here we go. I've got two ships heading our
way."
"Collectors?" Beck demanded, snapping alert.
"No," Morales said. "Just a couple of transports that were
docked here before the evacuation."
"Okay. Sorry about that. I'm evidently still a little on
edge."
"Understandable."
"See you in a few minutes," Beck said, striding into the
turbolift. The prospect of another assault by the Collectors wasn't
one that she really wanted to dwell on at the moment, so the sooner
she distracted herself with other issues, the better.
A short time later she stepped out of the turbolift and
headed down the corridor toward the Deck 26 conference center.
Most groups holding conferences on Waystation tended to use the
far fancier conference facilities available in Bradley Dillon's Starfleet
Suites Hotel, but the conference center on Deck 26 was available
for those who didn't want to pay Bradley for the privilege of having a
meeting.
Yeoman Tina Jones had taken over the largest of the
conference rooms and was at this moment doing a last minute
check of the row of computers she'd set up on the long conference
tables in order to process the beings returning to the station. She
was so wrapped up in her work that she didn't notice Captain Beck
enter until Beck was standing right across the table from her.
"Is everything in order?" Beck asked finally.
Jones started, her head shooting upward to see who had
just spoken. "Captain!" she exclaimed. "Hi there. I'm sorry. I was
trying to..."
"It's okay," Beck said. "Are you all set up? Morales
detected a couple of transports heading this way."
"I think so," Jones said. "Commander Morales was able to
find me some help," she added, gesturing at a small cluster of five
officers who were huddled in the corner drinking some of the
complimentary coffee.
"Good. Good. This intake center is a good idea. It will
help get things back to normal faster."
"I thought so," Jones said. "Thanks for coming down!"
"It was on my way. We're having the morning briefing
down here since the Ops conference room is..."
"Destroyed?"
"Kind of. We'll get it fixed, though." Not wishing to
discuss the damage anymore, she quickly changed the topic. "But I
really do like this idea. It shows a lot of initiative. Kind of like
ignoring an order for non-essential personnel to evacuate."
Jones blanched then started rapidly spitting out words. "I
know I shouldn't have done that, but Ih'mad and the others were
staying, so I thought I should stay with them. I mean, Waystation
is my home, too, and I didn't want the Collectors to destroy it, so I
stayed, and I got a phaser rifle, and I shot a lot of them! It was
great! They were running around from the flamethrower, and I was
able to just pick them off and..."
"Okay!" Beck said, holding her arms up.
"I'm sorry," Jones said meekly, quieting down.
"There's this whole speech about following orders that I
should give right now, but I think we both know the words. So I'm
just going to skip it. I get that you wanted to stay and fight, but
you should have asked me. I let a bunch of civilians stay. Granted
they were a bunch of frighteningly well-armed civilians, but the
point is that, if I let them stick around, I probably would have said
yes to you as well. Just ask next time!"
"There's going to be a next time?" Jones said.
"I hope not, but you know what I mean."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And this is the second time this year I've heard you say
something about how much you enjoyed shooting people. When
things settle down, I think we need to have a talk about your
future."
"My future?" Jones squeaked fearfully.
"Yes. Like seeing about getting you into Security where
you belong."
"A security officer!" Jones exclaimed. She frowned
suddenly. "But I never went to the Academy."
"And that's something we'll need to deal with...later," Beck
said, glancing over her shoulder where the first of the returning
Waystation residents were starting to come through the door. "It
looks like you've got customers. Welcome them home, Yeoman."
"I will. And thank you, Captain."
"No problem. Like I said, we'll talk later. Just promise me
you won't shoot anyone in the meantime."
"Not unless I'm provoked," Jones said, giving a smile to the
Aldeberan who had just walked up to her station.
The Aldeberan's eyes widened as he shook his head
furiously. "No! No provocation here! None!"
"Good," Jones said warmly. "Welcome back to
Waystation!"
Beck chuckled and headed back out into the conference
center corridor. Down the hall a display screen positioned outside
one of the smaller conference rooms read, "Waystation Welcomes
the Command Crew Briefing."
The chuckle turned into an audible laugh as she made her
way down the hall and walked into the conference room. Inside,
Lieutenant Commander Craig Porter was already seated, his head
buried in his arms on the table and sound asleep as several padds lay
around him. Beck silently slipped into the chair at the head of the
table to wait for the others.
A short time later, Commander Morales entered, padd in
hand, and exchanged an amused glance with Beck. "May I?" he
mouthed. Beck shrugged, drawing an evil grin from Morales as he
leaned down next to Porter's head.
"CORE BREACH! AHHHHHHHHH!" Morales screamed
suddenly. Porter jolted and launched himself into the air, letting
out a terrified scream of his own before he realized where he was
and collapsed back into his seat, breathing heavily.
"Thank you, Captain," Morales said, taking a seat across the
table from Porter. "I owed him that."
"Lucky me," Porter panted, trying to calm himself down
just as Lieutenant Commander Sean Russell and Dr. Amedon
Nelson walked through the door.
"Who's getting lucky without me?" Russell demanded
jovially, sliding into a chair next to Porter. "Not you now that
Joan of Bark is heading to Earth."
"Joan of Bark?" Beck said.
"Did you ever hear her start in on Craig?"
"Can we not do a post-mortem on my personal life?"
Porter said. "And Joan will be back from Earth eventually. We
just won't be together."
"You're right," Russell said, slapping Porter on the back.
"You are lucky."
"And since we've gotten the important business out of the
way, do you think we could take a few minutes to discuss the
condition of this station?" Beck said.
"I guess," Porter said.
"Thank you. Let's take this one at a time," Beck said,
turning to Morales. "Commander?"
"We've had two transports dock within the last ten minutes,
and several other vessels have commed us to let us know that they
are en route. Yeoman Jones is coordinating all arrivals through the
intake center she's set up down the hall. Some people will be able
to move right back into their old quarters, but not everyone. For
example, sections 23 and 24 of Deck 72 are currently sealed off due
to damage from a conduit rupture. I'll let Mister Porter go over
all of the details, but the important thing is that we should have
enough guest quarters available to provide temporary housing for
anyone whose quarters are unlivable."
"All right. Doctor?"
"Most of the injuries sustained during the fighting were
fairly minor. The Collectors fortunately were using stun, probably
because they intended to come back and collect anyone they could.
The only relatively serious injuries were sustained by Lieutenant
Laru when she crashed her runabout into that docking bay. I've got
her patched up, and she should be released from the Infirmary
tomorrow. As for the Collectors themselves, I've been able to
release just under 700 beings from the mind control helmets. We're
using the docking bays as temporary housing for them, but it'd be
nice to get them into some other quarters if they're going to be
staying here much longer."
"Russell?"
"We've got almost 80 actual Collectors in custody. The brig
is full, and the rest are under guard inside a force field in Cargo Bay
Six. Colonel Lazlo and I have been assigning our people in
rotating shifts to keep an eye on them, but mostly the Collectors
seem to be arguing amongst themselves. There seem to be two
major factions, each of which blames the other for their failure to
capture the station."
"Anything from the Chief Assessor?" Beck asked.
"He's got a cell to himself, as you requested. But all he
seems to want to do is pout."
"Awww. Poor widdle guy," Beck said. "Us mean old
people stopped him from blowing us up. How dare we! But
speaking of blowing us up, just how bad off are we?"
"Saved the fun one for last, huh?" Porter said, reaching for
his padds.
"I had a feeling," Beck replied.
"First, the good news. We're still here. We've replaced the
shield generator that the Collectors destroyed, but there are several
launchers and sections of the phaser arrays that need to be repaired.
That's just the exterior, though. Internally, we got really bashed
around as you've probably noticed. We've got several sections near
the hull that are being held together by the structural integrity field.
We're shoring up those sections first. After that, ruptured conduits
and the like are our top priority. From there we'll be moving to
collapsed ceilings, fallen supports, damaged turbolift shafts, and
such. The cosmetic stuff comes last."
"I just want it back together. How are our ships?"
"The Cumberland will need some serious repair time, but
the Wayward and the Roanoke came through this thing relatively
well. Not great, but well enough."
"Get a team working on the Wayward and the Roanoke
now. We need to have them ready to move, just in case. What's
the status of the Vault-Ship?"
"They took a beating as well, but I don't think there's any
danger of a core breach. I've got a couple of my people in their
engineering section learning the systems and keeping an eye on
things."
"What about its weapons?"
"They won't be shooting at us anytime soon, if that's what
you're worried about...mainly because they don't have a crew,"
Porter replied.
"Are their weapons functional or not?" Beck asked
pointedly.
"Some of them are, I know, but we haven't done a full
check of those systems."
"Do one," Beck said. "If another one of those Vault-Ships
shows up, we're going to need all the help we can get. I don't
think we can take another pounding like this, and I'm pretty damn
sure we don't have the munitions to fight them off, right Sean?"
"Our torpedo and tri-cobalt supplies are almost tapped out,"
Russell said. "I've already sent in a requisition to Starfleet
Command, but a supply ship isn't going to get here overnight."
"Exactly my point. We need to be ready, just in case."
"I'll get on it," Porter said. "You're going to want shields
and propulsion too, I imagine."
"Whatever we can get," Beck said. "I'm not going to have
gone through all of this just to get rolled over by another Vault-
Ship. No way. What else have we got?"
"Station damage reports?" Porter offered.
"Guess we'd better get them over with. Go ahead."
"All right. First, as some of you may have noticed, the Ops
conference room has undergone a radical change of decor..."
"Let's see," Yeoman Jones said, looking at her console.
"6793 you said? Ah. Oh. It appears that your quarters suffered a
slight replicator malfunction and are currently encased in
boysenberry jello. Our staff will be seeing to the problem as soon
as they can, but it may be a few days. In the meantime, we can give
you temporary quarters on Deck 84. Room 43. Let is know if you
have any other problems." Jones smiled sweetly as the Lurian in
front of her just stared back blankly. After a few moments, he
finally shuffled off to find his new accommodations. At least he
hadn't wanted to discuss the matter further. It'd taken forever just
to get him to shut up long enough to let her tell him about his
quarters.
Jones closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair, and let out a
little sigh. That was the last passenger from the two transports that
had recently docked, so she'd hopefully get a little bit of a break
before the next round of ships arrived.
Sensing that someone was in front of her, she opened her
eyes again and found Bradley Dillon standing there.
"Mister President!" she exclaimed, hopping to her feet.
"You're here!"
"So I noticed," Bradley replied with a smile as his Special
Secret Section flanked him and eyed the Starfleet Officers helping
Jones suspiciously. "We were told when we docked that everyone
has to come through you."
"I'm just trying to enforce a bit of order, so we can keep a
handle on things as people come back."
"Very sensible," Bradley said approvingly.
"Did you have a good trip?"
"It was a trip. I don't know that it was good or bad. I'm
just relieved to see that the station is still in one piece."
"At least you didn't have to worry about people trying to
assassinate you while you were away." Jones instantly wished she
hadn't brought that little issue up.
"What do you need from me?" Bradley asked, thankfully
ignoring her stupid comment.
"From you? I don't think anything," Jones said, checking
her console. "Um...actually Engineering wasn't able to fully check
your decks due to your security system."
"Just a little precaution I installed for use outside of normal
business hours," Bradley said.
"We were, however, able to beam about 20 Collectors out
of there. They'd been stunned...a lot."
"Good," Bradley said, his smile widening to a grin. "Is there
anything else?"
"Well...no. I guess not. If you find any damage in your
area, just report it to Engineering. They'll put it on the repair list."
"I certainly will," Bradley said. "Do you happen to know if
the captain is available?"
"She's down the hall in a briefing."
"Down the hall?"
"The briefing room in Ops is kind of a wreck right now, so
they moved down here. I don't know when they'll be done,
though."
"I'll see about poking my head in. Thank you, Tina."
"You're welcome, Mister President," Jones said, but Bradley
had already turned and was headed out the door.
He emerged into the corridor just as the doorway to the
conference room where the command crew was meeting opened
allowing Morales, Porter, Russell, and Nelson out into the hall.
"Congratulations to all of you," Bradley said, walking past
them toward the door. "Job well done." Before any of them could
respond, he was inside the conference room, where Captain Beck
sat silently staring at nothing, her chair turned toward the far wall.
"You did it," he said.
"Sure did," Beck said, slowly turning around in her chair.
"Funny. I expected you to be a bit happier about it.
Perhaps you would even gloat a bit."
"I won a battle, Bradley. Not the war."
"So are we at war now? I don't remember declaring one."
"I'll be sure to tell the Collectors that when the next Vault-
Ship shows up."
"Is one coming?"
"Who knows? But one probably will eventually when they
realize that their buddies haven't come home. Maybe it will even be
more than one. And then what? Sure we saved the Multeks for
now, but we didn't settle anything. Maybe we just staved off the
inevitable."
"I seem to remember saying something about not getting
involved in this in the first..."
"I don't need a lecture, Bradley."
"Let me finish," the president said. "You drew the
Collectors here because protecting the Multeks was important to
you. Sometimes you have to go after what you feel is important no
matter what the potential cost. But if you start something, you
have to be prepared to finish it. Are you prepared to settle this
thing?"
"I don't see how I can," Beck said. "We know so little
about the Collectors. How do we..."
"Follow the money," Bradley said.
"What? What money?"
"It's mostly stuff in this instance rather than money, but the
idea is the same," Bradley said, taking a seat next to Beck. "You say
that we don't know much about the Collectors, but think about
what we do know. It's in their very name. They collect. Why?
For whom? Yes, that Vault-Ship is huge, but these people strip
entire planets of their interesting objects before selling the rest.
Surely they can't do that to many places before they need to unload
somewhere. Find that place and then maybe you can learn why
they collect and for who. It certainly doesn't seem that military
superiority is their goal. So what is it? And they sell a lot of what
they take. Who is getting those profits? And what are they doing
with them? Business and diplomacy have a bit in common, Captain.
You can't begin to negotiate in either until you know the other
side's position. Until you understand what the Collectors' true
purposes are, you'll never be able to settle things with them."
"Beck to Porter," Beck said without looking away from
Bradley.
"Porter here."
"I want every bit of information we can get out of the
Collectors' computer system."
"Anything in particular we should be looking for?"
"Wherever it is they call home."
"Oookay."
"And I want the Wayward at 100 percent as soon as
possible."
"Why am I not liking what those two orders taken together
imply?"
"Craig."
"We'll take care of them. Porter out."
"Beck to Morales."
"Go ahead, Captain," Waystation's First Officer replied.
"You'd better call another briefing for this afternoon.
There's been a change in plans. I'll explain more later. Beck out."
Bradley smiled as he stood up. "I'll leave you to your work."
"Thanks, Bradley. I mean that."
"Anytime. Sometimes we both need to be reminded to look
at the bigger picture. If you continually focus on the little things,
you'll never accomplish your big goal."
"You say that like a man with a goal."
"That I am," Bradley replied, heading out the door. "That I
definitely am."
"Captain's log. Stardate 55876.2. We are three weeks into
our effort to get to the Collectors before they get to us. With the
information Lieutenant Commander Porter was able to gather from
the Vault-Ship's computer system, we believe we have a good idea
where the Collectors' home world is located. Part of me thinks we
should have brought a fleet for this little trip, but, as
Bradley...President Dillon pointed out to me, I'm here to gather
information and, with luck, open some kind of diplomatic relations,
not declare war. We want to talk.
"We brought the Chief Assessor with us in hopes that he
could fill us in about what we would be facing. Not surprisingly,
he's declined. At the very least, though, I'm hoping we can use his
presence to get our foot in the door and to stop the Collectors from
attacking us.
"Just in case, though, we've made sure that the Wayward is
back up to 100 percent. Lieutenant Commander Porter completed
the last few repairs while in transit. I've also brought along the
second best pilot Waystation has, Lieutenant Stephanie Hodges of
the Federation Marines, who was graciously loaned to us by
Colonel Lazlo."
"Graciously?" Hodges asked from the Wayward's pilot chair
as she glanced over at Beck sitting beside her. "Do you always
record those kinds of lies in your logs?"
"As far as command is concerned, we're one big happy
station," Beck replied. "Saves me a lot of headaches."
"I could see that," Hodges said. "Have you heard anything
new from the station?"
"Not much. Repairs are wrapping up. Still no sign of other
Vault-Ships. That's about it."
"Sounds like things are under control."
"Yep. Your hunka man is doing fine."
"Lisa!"
"What? Tell me that you haven't spent the last three weeks
pining."
"I'm not pining."
"Yes, you are. It's cute. I haven't seen you like this in a
while. I'm just glad things are going well."
"Walter's a very nice guy. And funny. And so creative. And
he's got some of the best stories. I love listening to him talk,"
Hodges said. "It's fun not talking with him, too," she added with a
wicked grin.
"Hmmm...I guess I just never thought of him as much of a
talker."
"He wasn't at first. I think he needs to feel close to a person
first. It's an intimacy thing."
"So sleep with him, and he starts babbling."
"Are we discussing new interrogation techniques?" Porter
said, stepping into the cockpit. "I'm all for them so far."
"Why am I not surprised?" Beck asked grinning as Hodges'
console started beeping.
"We're getting close to the coordinates Craig extrapolated
from the Collectors' systems," Hodges said as Porter quickly took
a seat at the science console behind Beck.
"G-Type star system. Looks like four gas giants, a couple
of barren rocks, and something fairly expansive farther in."
"Define expansive," Beck said.
"Hard to tell for sure. From this distance, I'm mainly
reading a lot of metal structures and some energy signatures. I'm
not seeing any ships buzzing around, though."
"None?" Hodges said surprised.
"They could be docked," Beck said. "Take us in slowly,
Steph. See if you can use the outer planets for cover as much as
possible. Craig, get our guest up here. We may need him."
Porter nodded and jogged out of the cockpit as Hodges steered
the Wayward toward an aquamarine orb inside the solar system.
Porter returned a short time later, with the handcuffed Chief
Assessor in tow.
"Welcome home," Beck said, gesturing toward the front
viewport.
"I will not help you," the Chief Assessor replied.
"So we're in the right place then?"
"I will not help you."
"Have a seat."
"I will not help you," the Chief Assessor snapped one more
time as he plopped down into the chair behind Hodges.
The Wayward continued onward, skirting across the
atmosphere of another gas giant, then zipping close to an asteroid
field as it headed deeper into the system.
"Yikes," Porter said after several minutes of silence in the
cockpit.
"What have we got?" Beck asked.
Porter transferred an image to the long, narrow viewscreen
running beneath the front viewport. At first, it just looked like a
jumble of space junk, but Beck was gradually able to discern the
details. Several massive, box-like structures floated around what
was probably at one time a planet. Now it was a barren hulk, its
once spherical shape now marred by jagged gaping tears and rips
thousands of miles across, carving deep valleys into its surface.
Beck's attention was pulled away from the scarred world as
she spotted a Vault-Ship docked at one of the enormous boxes in
space, long umbilicals leading from the ship's cargo areas into the
structure.
"That can't be good," Hodges muttered, seeing the ship as
well.
"They look busy. Keep an eye on them, though, in case we
need to run away."
"At least we're being honest in our terminology," Porter
said. "Hang on. We've got two fighters leaving the Vault-Ship and
heading our way," he said, watching the sensors. "Weapons are
hot."
"And yet they're hailing us," Beck said, turning in her chair
to face the Chief Assessor. "Make them go away."
"I will not help you," the Chief Assessor replied defiantly.
"Yes, you will," Beck said, activating the camera at his seat
so that he was who the fighters saw answering the comm.
The black helmet of one of the Collectors' pilots appeared
on the monitor. "Unidentified and pretty neat looking vessel. We
don't have one of those. Prepare to be...oh. You've already
collected that ship, huh?"
The Chief Assessor said nothing, instead sitting unmoving in
his seat.
"Hello?" the fighter pilot said.
"Um...sorry about that," Porter said, standing next to the
Chief Assessor but just out of camera range. "I am still learning the
controls of this ship I collected."
"Ohhh. Where is your ship, Chief Assessor? Your Vault-
Ship, I mean, since you're obviously in a ship now."
"It was so neat I decided to bring it back myself," Porter
said.
"I'm sure Grenana will love it," the pilot said dejectedly
before abruptly cutting the comm signal.
"Grenana?" Beck asked.
"I will not help you," the Chief Assessor said.
"You already did," Porter said.
"Did not."
"Did so."
"Nunh unh."
"Uh hunh."
"I didn't do anything!" the Chief Assessor insisted.
"You sat there and posed for the camera, which was
evidently enough since those fighters are going back to their Vault-
Ship. Thanks a bunch!" Porter said, patting the Chief Assessor on
the shoulder on his way back to his seat.
"That's not fair!"
"I bet you guys hear that a lot," Beck said. "Like every
time you show up to 'liquidate' some poor species' planet."
"We are the Collectors. We collect."
"For whom? This Grenana? Who is Grenana?"
"You will not go near Grenana!" the Chief Assessor
bellowed.
"Oooh. I think you touched a nerve, Captain," Porter said.
"Full sensor sweep, Craig. See if you can find anything that
might be a base for this Grenana."
"Well, we've got the boxes in space, but I'm not getting
life-signs from any of them except the one our friends out there are
visiting. Grenana could be there. Wait. There's some kind of
structure on the planet, about 50 meters below the surface of the
southern hemisphere. I'm reading a breathable atmosphere...and a
single life-sign."
"Can we get down there?"
"It doesn't look like it should be a problem."
"Then let's pay whoever it is a visit," Beck said, going to
the rear of the cockpit and opening the supply locker there. She
tossed a phaser and tricorder to Porter and kept a phaser for
herself. "Come on, Chief Assessor. We're going to talk to your
boss."
"You must not disturb Grenana."
"Grenana should have thought of that before he sent you
guys out to ravage the galaxy. Now move it!"
The Chief Assessor grudgingly rose from his chair and
allowed Porter to escort him out of the cockpit at phaser-point on
their way to the Wayward's small transporter alcove.
"Stay here as long as you can," Beck said to Hodges. "If
that Vault-Ship gets snoopy again, contact us for beam out."
"Which will be followed by a very quick getaway," Hodges
said. "Warp engines will be on standby."
"Good because I really hate to think about what one of
those helmets will do to my hair," Beck said, giving Hodges a
smile before heading out to follow Porter and the Chief Assessor.
Captain Beck, Lieutenant Commander Porter, and the
Chief Assessor materialized a short time later inside a long hallway
leading up to a bright, white door adorned from top to bottom with
intricate inlayed carvings. As for the walls themselves, they were
covered in...
"Wallpaper?" Beck said surprised and confused as she ran
her hand along the peach-colored patterned paper.
The Chief Assessor stiffened. "Do not mock..."
"No. I like it. Really," Beck said. "It's just not what I was
expecting considering..."
"Considering what?"
"That you guys run around in black ships with black walls
while wearing black helmets," Porter said while scanning the area
with his tricorder. "After all that, this is surprisingly..."
"Pretty," Beck finished, examining the carvings in the door.
"Was this done by hand?"
"Maybe. We collected it," the Chief Assessor said.
"Figures."
"The life-sign is inside the room," Porter said. "I would
have beamed us directly inside, but there are some odd energy fields
in there that would have interfered with the transporter."
"This is fine. I was able to manage to walk the incredibly
long two meters from where we beamed in to the door," Beck said.
She tried the old-fashioned, wrought-metal door handle. Not
surprisingly, the door was locked.
What was a tad more surprising were the two floating balls
that suddenly shot out of a panel that whisked open at the other end
of the hallway.
"I think you should have knocked first," Porter said as the
balls, which were covered with multiple beam emitters, charged
their way.
"Scatter!" Beck ordered as the first volley of blasts seared
at them. Porter and Beck dove for the ground, returning fire as
the spheres zipped past them, then looped around for another pass.
The Chief Assessor, meanwhile, just stood there watching the
whole thing unfold while the spheres avoided him completely.
"For xelk's sake, what's all that racket?" a wavering voice
cried. "Stop, you idiotic things! Stop! Go away!"
The flying balls of doom suddenly ceasing firing and slowly
made their way back to their hatch of origin. If Beck didn't know
any better, she'd almost say they were sulking. She and Porter got
to their feet and turned toward the now-open white door to face the
source of the voice.
"Grenana!" the Chief Assessor exclaimed, falling to his
knees.
"Grenana?" Beck and Porter asked. In front of them was
a tiny woman in a blue, floral-print muumuu, hunched over with
age. Her hairless grey-blue skin was almost nothing but wrinkles.
She looked at the Starfleet Officers with a mix of surprise and
suspicion.
"Who are you two?" she demanded.
Beck quickly pulled herself together. "Captain Lisa Beck.
I'm with the United Federation of Planets. This is Lieutenant
Commander Craig Porter."
"I have failed you, oh great Grenana," the Chief Assessor
wailed. "These beings captured me and used me to get to you."
"You going to kill me?" Grenana asked Beck, sizing up the
human woman.
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Damn," Grenana muttered, turning slowly and shuffling
back into the room she had emerged from.
Beck and Porter exchanged a confused look, then
followed her inside, the Chief Assessor close behind.
The room beyond was actually more of a small apartment.
The area they entered was obviously the living room with a very
fancy, yet comfortable looking sofa and love-seat and a well-worn
rocking chair with a replicator set up right beside it, all of which
faced a massive viewscreen on the far wall. The other walls were
covered in powder-blue wallpaper and lined with shelves. Each and
every shelf was packed to capacity with knick-knacks and doo-dads
of every conceivable variety. Two open doors on the opposite side
of the room led to the bathroom and bedroom respectively.
"Please. Make yourselves comfortable," Grenana said
gesturing to the sofa as she gingerly lowered herself back into her
rocking chair. "Can I get you a beverage?" she asked as Beck and
Porter took the proffered seats. The Chief Assessor, obviously
disconcerted by all of this, stood stiffly in the middle of the room.
"No. Thanks. We're fine," Beck said as Porter shook his
head.
"Okay. Well...if you aren't here to kill me, what do you
want?"
"Well..." Beck said, trying to think of how to phrase her
next words. She didn't have a lot of idea what she'd find in the
heart of Collectors' space to begin with, but someone like Grenana
never even crossed her mind. "We were told that you were in
charge of the Collectors, so we were hoping that you
could...um...make them stop."
"HA!" Grenana laughed. "Don't I wish! I've been trying to
get this stupidity to stop for ages now."
"But, Grenana, we love you," the Chief Assessor insisted.
She shot him a nasty glare, then tried to pull herself up out of her
seat. Porter was on his feet in an instant and helped her the rest of
the way to standing.
"Thank you, deary," she said, giving Porter a kind smile
before shooting another glare at the motionless Chief Assessor.
She shuffled over to one of the shelves and snatched one of the
knick-knacks off of it. "This is what started it all," Grenana said,
holding out a figurine of a winged dragon-like creature carved out
of a purple translucent stone. "I got it when I was eight years old.
I liked it, so I started to collect them. By the time my mother and
father died and I became Queen, I had a nice little collection
going."
"You are a queen?" Porter said.
"I was. I guess I technically still am, not that there's much
planet to rule anymore. I don't think any of this would have
happened if I hadn't been queen, though. At least not to this
degree. See my kids knew I collected these figurines, so on my
birthday they'd scour the planet looking for new and interesting
ones. Let's face it. I was Queen, so it wasn't like I needed
anything else.
"It became a competition between them. Who could get
Mom the best figurine? And then it escalated. They were arguing
and pitting the provinces they ruled against each other. The gifts
went from figurines to whatever their best artisans could devise.
My birthday became more about one-upmanship than anything else.
They each constructed huge warehouses around my palace to hold
their gifts to me. Then the arguing became actual fighting.
Province against province. And then their kids got into it. By the
time that happened, I was looking forward to my inevitable death.
"But they took that away from me. Shortly before I should
have died, our scientists developed a kind of stasis technology that
stopped aging completely while still allowing the subject to be
awake and aware. It only worked as long as you stayed inside the
field, though. My grandchildren called a truce long enough to build
this bunker for their dear old nana and shove me inside of it while
they continued blasting the planet apart and fighting to gain favor
with me through their additions to my collection.
"I didn't want any of it, though. I just wanted it to stop.
They wouldn't listen, though. Gifts for Nana became gifts for
Great Nana and so on until they just started calling me Grenana.
The ones in charge now probably don't even know what the name
means." She turned on the Chief Assessor. "Do you?"
"I do now, Grenana," the Chief Assessor said adoringly.
"Ugggh. Generations came and went, and eventually they
reached out into space. At first they traded with other species for
new items, then, when it became apparent that there wasn't
anything left on this planet to use for trade, they began making little
raiding runs in their tiny ships. Most of the time, they were
repulsed, so about twenty years ago, the leaders of the factions,
which by then numbered just over one hundred, met and devised a
new plan. They would call a truce and stop the fighting before
there was no planet left to fight on. Instead, each faction would get
a ship, a massive ship able to hold tons and tons of their
'acquisitions.'"
"You mean the stuff they stole from other worlds," Beck
said.
"Precisely," Grenana said. "They would strip other planets,
ones without the technological might to resist them, clean and then
bring their stolen goods back to gigantic orbital warehouses, one
for each faction. The only problem they had was that decades upon
decades of war had reduced our planet's population to almost
nothing. That's when the helmets were invented. They started
raiding other worlds and taking their people away, fitting them with
helmets, and using them to build the fleet of Vault-Ships. Then,
when the ships were done, they kept the stolen people to use as
Collectors when they swarmed across a new planet.
"One hundred and nine ships launched five years ago, and
gradually they've been picked off one by one. Most often it was
because the Chief Assessor, the head of the faction and the Vault-
Ship, underestimated the ability of a species to fight back.
Sometimes, though, we aren't sure what happened. A spatial
anomaly, a storm, sometimes even other Vault-Ships could be
responsible for the disappearance of a Vault-Ship . But now there
are only fourteen remaining."
"Thirteen," the Chief Assessor said sheepishly.
"We didn't blow your ship up!" Beck protested.
"No, but I claimed Vault-Ship O-65 as my own and
destroyed my own Vault-Ship, a ship YOU damaged severely,
before we attacked your station. And then you went and almost
destroyed O-65 as well!"
"But we didn't," Beck said.
"Grenana, this woman and her followers disrupted an
auction on my ship that would have allowed me to bring you many
hillicas. And then she freed my entire crew and the crew of O-65!
She's the enemy! She wants to destroy us all!"
"She seems perfectly pleasant to me," Grenana said.
"But my auction..."
"Forget the stupid auction! How many hillicas do you think
I need? It's not like you all ever let me out to shop anyway, and
even if you did, what would I buy? You folks collect anything and
everything and present it to me whether I want it or not. Look at
me! I'm 349 years old! I don't need anything! Except maybe to
get away from you morons. And since I can't do that, I'm going to
sit here and chat with these nice people. It's the first decent
conversation I've had in a couple of centuries!"
"We...we collect for you," the Chief Assessor said,
sounding small and lost.
"I don't want it. I keep telling you that, but nobody's
listening. I DON'T WANT IT!"
"We must collect for Grenana."
"What if she wasn't here?" Beck asked. "What would you
do then?"
"You will not kill Grenana!"
"I'm not going to kill anyone," Beck snapped. She turned
to Grenana. "What if I could take you somewhere? Somewhere
where'd you'd be taken care of and be able to live out the rest of
your life with other...um...beings with life experience."
"You mean old people," Grenana said.
"Well, yeah. But the facility is very nice. My great-
grandparents live there. They have big meals, constant care, day
trips..."
"Juppleball?"
"Er...they've got shuffleboard, but I'm sure you could teach
them juppleball."
"But most importantly," Porter said. "You'd have your life
back and loads of new people to talk to."
"Any of them single? I haven't had a man in over 250
years," Grenana said. She turned on the Chief Assessor. "Never
thought to collect me one of those, now did you?" she snapped
angrily before looking at Beck again. "You can really do that for
me?"
"Absolutely. You're a prisoner here. It's not right," Beck
said.
"You're xelking right, it isn't. Give me a minute to pack a
bag, then get me out of this dump."
"NOOOOOOOO!" the Chief Assessor cried. "If you take
Grenana, I swear to you we will hunt her down and bring her back
to us where she belongs. As long as she is alive, we will collect for
her!"
"Now listen here," Grenana said, shuffling over to the Chief
Assessor and glaring into his helmet with fury in her eyes. "You
will do no such thing. In fact, you're going to tell the other Chief
Assessors that I died. I just got so xelking old that I keeled over
and disintegrated, and you saw the whole thing."
"Why would I do that? How would that help me?"
Grenana rolled her eyes. "What if I told you you're my
favorite?"
"I am?" the Chief Assessor exclaimed. "Can I get that in
writing?"
"Sure. I'll do a whole song and dance number to that effect
if it will get me out of here."
"We will mourn you forever," the Chief Assessor said with
a bow.
"Yeah. You do that," Grenana muttered, heading back into
her bedroom to pack with new life in her stride.
"Do you think this will help?" Porter whispered to Beck.
"No Grenana," the Chief Assessor said to himself as he
stood in front of them trying to get his mind around the concept.
"No one to collect for. I could do something else! Maybe open
that pastry shop I've always dreamed of. Grenana's Favorite's
Buns. Hmmm...I like the sound of that. Maybe I could even take
off my helmet."
"Yeah," Beck said back to Porter, a smile spreading across
her face. "I kind of think it will."
"Captain's Log. Stardate 55962.7. After leaving the
Collectors' system without incident, we were able to return to
Federation space. And after a brief stop at Waystation to check in,
we proceeded to take Grenana to the Betelgeuse Acres Retirement
Community, where she has now eagerly taken up residence. I really
believe this is the best thing for Grenana; although, I'm pretty sure
she was flirting with my great-grandfather. I'll have to warn Great-
Grandma to keep her eyes open.
"In any case, Grenana seemed very excited about her new
home and the opportunities for interaction it would provide. I can't
imagine being trapped by the Collectors like that for centuries. I
would have gone completely insane. Grenana is obviously one
tough old bird. Heavy emphasis on the old. As least the Vulcans at
Betelgeuse Acres won't be able to act so superior because of their
age anymore. Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa will both be
happy about that.
"With the Grenana situation resolved (and hopefully the
Collectors' threat with it), we have returned to Waystation to see
about cleaning up the rest of the mess the Collectors left behind. In
our absence, the station's repairs have been mostly completed and
our weapons resupplied. Also, most of the beings we freed from
the Collectors have been able to contact their peoples and arrange
transportation home, which means lots of new races visiting the
station and lots of goodwill toward the Federation, none of which is
the problem.
"It's the Multeks I'm worried about."
The Collectors' Vault-Ship once again hovered over
Multos, but this time it was there to give rather than take. Despite
the Collectors' short time on the surface of the Multek homeworld,
they had managed to take a fair number of items, all of which were
now sitting in the Vault-Ship's vast cargo holds. The Multeks
would have to go through the hold and see what belonged here and
what belonged on their colony world, which was liquidated when
the Collectors first entered the Multek Enclave.
"So was it everything you dreamed it would be?" Lieutenant
Hodges asked smiling as Commander Walter Morales sat at the Vault-
Ship's helm console in the vessel's command center.
"Pretty much," Morales said, spinning around in his chair
before standing up and stretching. "Big. Lumbering. No grace or
agility whatsoever. Still, I'm glad the captain allowed me to fly it
back here. I wanted the experience after going up against a couple
of these."
"And I'm sure Russell didn't mind being left in command
of the station for a while," Hodges said.
"Nope. Probably not," Morales said, wrapping his arms
around Hodges' waist. Normally he wouldn't do such a thing while
on duty, but seeing as how they were the only ones in the command
center and the ship was parked in orbit, why the hell shouldn't he?
"So you prefer to fly things that are a bit more agile, huh?"
Hodges asked with a glint in her eyes.
"Oh yeah. Lithe. Powerful. Maneuverable." With a little
spin, he maneuvered Hodges so that her back was to the now-
deactivated helm console and laid her across it. "Sexy structural
lines and curves," he added looking her up and down hungrily.
"Nothing beats it."
"You got that right," Hodges said, pulling Morales down to
her. "Mister Morales," she whispered hoarsely in his ear. "You have
the conn."
"You do realize that I'm never going to be able to hear that
phrase the same way again now, don't you?"
"Good."
Down on the planet's surface, Dr. Amedon Nelson stood at
Frequoq Wuddle's office window looking out on the city stretching
out before her.
"It's like...a big amusement park," she said in wonder.
"I told you," Wuddle said, standing directly behind her.
"I know. I just never...It was hard to imagine. I've never
seen a world like this."
"What do you think?"
"It's...beautiful."
"I'm glad you like it. And that you've finally been able to
come here. I've wanted to show this to you for so long."
"And all it took was an alien invasion," Nelson said, grinning
as she turned around to face Wuddle.
"I hope this will just be the first visit. I want you to make
more. A lot more."
"I guess that's going to depend on your Council."
"And Captain Beck," Wuddle said. "The Council of Elder
Wizards has tried to keep knowledge of other life in the galaxy
away from us for decades. It will take a lot for them to change
their minds."
"You mean like an alien invasion?"
"That could do it."
Standing in the center of the meeting chamber of the Multek
Council of Elder Wizards, Captain Beck had the feeling she should
be intimidated. These men and women were the true power on
Multos. They literally had the future of the Multek Enclave and the
future of Federation-Multek relations in their hands. What they
decided would all depend on Beck's next few words.
She wasn't intimidated.
But she had to admit that the fact that the council members
were circling around her in spinning tea cups was more than a little
distracting.
"For a long time now," she stated, "you all have had a
secret. The problem with secrets, though, is that they invariably get
out. And your secret is definitely out. You've known for years
that the Multeks aren't the only life in the universe, yet you have
decided to hide that information from your people. In all honesty, I
understand why. You have a kind of utopia here, and you want to
keep the rest of the galaxy away.
"Too bad it didn't listen.
"Your secret showed up and started ripping the place apart.
Fortunately for you, Frequoq Wuddle had established ties with the
outside. I'm not trying to raise the Federation up as your savior,
but we did come to your aid. If we hadn't, there wouldn't be an
Enclave left to worry about.
"It's a big galaxy, and there's a lot out there both good and
bad. Contact with other species is going to change your society.
There's no way around it, but that change started the moment the
Collectors showed up on your doorstep. Maybe you should be glad
they did. You had a kind of paradise, but how long could you
maintain it? If there's nothing to strive for, no obstacles to
overcome, you have stagnation.
"Yes, the galaxy is full of adversaries whether they be
hostile species or virulent diseases, but facing these things are what
makes a society grow and change. Facing adversity leads to
innovations you can't even imagine yet. If the Enclave is to
survive, you have to make the choice to engage the rest of the
universe. We're out here, and you can no longer pretend that we
don't exist. We're not going away.
"There is no secret anymore. Your people know the truth.
They're going to want to see what's around them. Lucky for you,
you've got some friendly neighbors. We want to learn more about
you, and we can teach you about us at the same time. Please don't
push us away. Don't delude yourself into believing that you can
turn back time and undo what's done. It's too late for that, but
now you have the opportunity to determine what the Multek
Enclave is going to become for the future. And know that if you
want us, the United Federation of Planets will be here to help."
Captain Beck was pulled out of a deep sleep by a muted,
yet incessant pounding that refused to go away even when she
opened her eyes. Why oh why was she not being allowed to rest?
She'd been one tight knot of muscle for the last several weeks, ever
since Frequoq Wuddle had told them that the Collectors were
invading the Multek Enclave. After stopping the Collectors at
Waystation, she'd collapsed into something more resembling a coma
than sleep, but that was out of sheer exhaustion. Relaxing sleep
had been elusive...until now. Or at least until a few moments ago
before this damn pounding started.
She pulled herself out of bed and stumbled out into the
living room of the quarters she was occupying on the Vault-Ship
while they visited Multos. In all honesty, the accommodations were
quite nice, with a large, incredibly comfy bed, high-quality sheets,
and one of the best showers she'd ever had the privilege to
experience. The Medusan spa back on Waystation could stand to
learn a bit about shower technology from the Collectors...or
whomever the Collectors had stolen their showers from.
After accidentally knocking her shin against the coffee table
in the living room due to her groggy state, she finally made it to the
source of the pounding noise: the cabin's front door.
"All right! I'm here!" Beck shouted, now feeling much
more awake thanks to her throbbing shin. There was nothing like
some sharp, severe pain to get the mind nice and alert. She
smacked the door control, opening the door and revealing President
Bradley Dillon holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
"Bradley!" Beck said surprised. "Mister President," she
added, correcting herself.
"Don't these places have door chimes?" Bradley asked,
amused at the captain's disheveled state.
"Yes, but they evidently only ring inside the Collectors'
helmets, which I am so not putting on. What are you doing here?"
"I heard the news that the Council of Elder Wizards has
decided to take your advice and establish diplomatic ties with the
Federation," Bradley said. "I thought that I would come personally to
extend my greetings to their leadership...and to congratulate you, of
course."
"That's nice, but I meant what are you doing here? As in at
my door."
"I thought we could have a drink," Bradley said.
"You want to have a drink."
"That is what I just said."
"With me."
"Yes. Why is that so strange?"
"Ummm...maybe because we never have drinks together."
"Not very often," Bradley said. "But that can change. May I
come in?"
"Be my guest," Beck said, standing aside and allowing the
Federation President to enter. Bradley took the bottle and glasses
over to the room's dining table and produced an old-fashioned
corkscrew from his pocket, which he deftly used to open the
champagne.
"I've been doing some thinking," Bradley said. "You've made
me realize that there comes a time when you have to take action if
you ever hope to accomplish what's really important to you. I
thank you for that."
"You're welcome, I guess," Beck said, desperately hoping
this would be a short drink.
"And actually I've come to see that the universe has been
trying to tell me the same thing. If I may bastardize some
Shakespeare, there's a special providence in the fall of a book."
"I have no idea what that means."
"Action must sometimes be taken, Captain," Bradley
continued, handing Beck her glass. "Otherwise what you really
want may be lost forever."
What I really want is to be in bed and thoroughly asleep as I
dream about having a private beach on Risa along with a private
brigade of eager and very fit cabana boys at my disposal, Beck
thought, glancing longingly at the bedroom as she downed the
champagne.
"There's something to be said for following your dreams,"
Beck said instead, trying at least to be somewhat supportive of
whatever the hell Bradley was babbling about.
"Oh, this is more than a dream. Much more," Bradley said.
"And the pieces are quickly falling into place. Soon it will be time.
Time indeed." He fell silent for a moment. "Well, I won't keep you
any longer," he suddenly said, abruptly scooping up the champagne
and heading for the door. "Thank you for the drink, Captain."
"Anytime," Beck said, wondering if she cared enough to try
to clarify her confusion about what Bradley had just said. She quickly
decided that no, she didn't care, and she let him exit her quarters
without another word. Bradley could deal with his falling books and
chasing his dreams in his own time. She, however, was in pursuit
of nothing more than some much needed rest. Not one to stop
short of achieving her goal, Beck stumbled back to the bedroom
and slid into the welcoming embrace of her luxuriously cozy bed.